


Grotesque Mask

by Tarlan



Category: Adventure Inc.
Genre: Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-10
Updated: 2006-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Judson finds a grotesque mask but the <i>False Face</i> society of the Iroquois want it back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grotesque Mask

"Where you going?" Mac followed Judson to the ramp leading off the Vast Explorer, her face screwed up in a frown of annoyance.

"Be back soon," he called over his shoulder, giving her a jaunty grin at her exasperation.

"Judson!" She called out after him but Judson carried on walking.

They had docked only half an hour earlier, having traveled all through the night to reach New York. The harbor was strangely quiet but Mac put that down to the early morning hour where any person with an inkling of common sense would be sleeping rather than wandering around in the cold gray light of the dawn. She watched him until his figure disappeared into the clammy mist that swirled over the dock, feeling a shudder along her spine as if in premonition. The lonely call of a foghorn moaned through the stillness of the morning, its sorrowful cry only adding to the ripple of fear that sent the hairs at the nape of her neck rising.

"Damn it, Judson." She almost stamped her feet in a fit of petulance. Why did that man have to be so... so... so damn infuriating? She thought and then sighed, deciding to go back inside before she froze in the cold mist that had closed around the ship. She berated herself as she wrapped her arms around her scantily clad torso. Perhaps if she'd grabbed something a little more sensible to wear then she would not have felt the cold so acutely and, perhaps then, she might have been able to go after him rather than just stand here watching as the mist swallowed him whole.

Mac turned away, moving swiftly across the damp deck and down into the warmth below. She stared at the Iroquois ceremonial mask standing on the desk and sighed. Judson had promised to return before their meeting with the director of the Museum of Native America. She just hoped that, for once, this particular find would pay off and they would earn enough to keep the Vast Explorer afloat for another few months.

The mask was hideous. It had been carved out of dark wood, painted with splashes of red and orange that had faded over the centuries, and then adorned with beads made out of the bones of small animals. Tufts of coarse hair fell from its top with some roughly plaited to fall across the slash of its eyes. Its mouth was a cruel snarl as if the wearer had wanted to scare away some fictitious monster. She had seen plenty of these types of masks across so many different cultures but this one was truly scary.

Nine O'clock came and went, and Mac could read the ever-increasing concern in Gabe's eyes as they kept sweeping towards the upper deck as if half-expecting Judson to climb on-board at any moment.

"We can't wait any longer, or we'll miss the meeting." With care Mac wrapped up the mask and then placed it into a protective case. "Maybe he's planning on meeting us there."

"Yeah." Gabe sighed, and then he grumbled softly. "You'd think he'd have learned how to use a cell phone by now."

It took almost an hour to reach the museum through the busy Manhattan traffic for they seemed to get caught in one snarl up followed by another. Gabe seemed overly conscious of the time, looking down at his watch constantly but Mac knew it had little to do with reaching the meeting on time. After all, they had something the Director wanted so he would wait for them. It was concern for Judson that played on their minds.

"Probably already there, drinking whiskey and recounting how we found this thing." Gabe huffed in annoyance. "One of these days I'm gonna kill him."

"Not if I get him first." Mac grinned and saw some of the concern fall from Gabe's face, knowing that it was all just words.

****

 **Five hours missing:**

Mac paced the main cabin of the Vast Explorer while Gabe slumped into a seat. When Judson was a no-show at the museum, Mac handled the sale, grateful to get the ugly mask off their hands. For once, no one quibbled with the price, with the Director more than happy to possess the artifact. They were obliged to spend more than an hour with the Director as he showed them the proposed display case and celebrated his latest acquisition.

"So where do we start searching?"

Gabe flinched when he heard a loud bang on the deck above them. Both of them raced topside, finding a stone wrapped in a piece of paper but no sign of the person who had lobbed it onto the ship. He picked up the stone and unraveled the paper, straightening it out and reading aloud the words written in a spidery hand.

"If you wish to see Judson Cross alive then you must give back the mask."

Mac yelled out. "Only one problem... we don't have the mask. It's at the museum." She stared around, eyebrows rising when an elderly man stepped out from behind a stack of crates.

"You no longer possess the mask?"

Mac looked at the man, taking note of his braided white hair and seamed face. His reddish skin and dark eyes held all the nobility of a Native American. He was dressed in a simple plaid shirt and denim jeans, with soft boots.

"We took it to the museum this morning," Mac replied.

"That is bad news for your friend."

Mac spared a glance at Gabe before turning back to the old man. "Why?"

"Because my son will not bargain for anything less than the mask returned to its rightful place, even if this means taking your friend's life."

"Have you considered I could grab you and demand Judson's release in exchange for you?" asked Mac, raising an eyebrow.

The old man had moved forward while talking and now stood at the end on the gang plank. Mac beckoned him onboard.

"You could try but my son would not take up your offer. He wants the mask."

"Why?" asked Gabe, clearly confused over why anyone would want to kill over such an ugly, roughly-hewn mask. "It's not like anyone knew where it was before we found it."

"Ah," said the old man, holding up his finger. "But my people did not need to know its resting place, only that it was there, protecting the forest and the tribe from sickness. My son wants the mask returned, or your friend will be used to make a replacement"

Mac looked to Gabe, both having learned enough since they started out on their journey with Judson to recognize that stranger things had happened, and the supernatural could not simply be brushed aside. Sometimes belief could manifest itself into reality. A lost talisman could bring a loss of faith, leading to disaster. This situation could be no different. That thought led Mac to another -- the placebo effect. If no one had seen this mask in centuries then no one would be able to tell a fake from the real thing. All they had to do was have a copy made of the one held in the museum and hand that over in exchange for Judson. Mac grinned.

"I have a plan."

****

Judson grunted softly as his attempts to free his bound arms only led to the knots tightening. His abductors had dumped him in this dusty room several hours back, having tied him securely, and they had not been seen since. For all Judson knew, they might never return and he had visions of someone finding his emaciated skeleton in some distant future, puzzling over his death and wondering whether it had been part of some ritual sacrifice. The thought spurred him on and he hissed as the rope around his upper arms tightened further, feeling the blood flow slacken as the rope began to act like a tourniquet.

"More you struggle, tighter them ropes will get."

One of his abductors squatted down beside him and pulled him forward slightly, easing the rope a fraction from where it was biting into Judson's biceps following his futile attempt to free himself. He hissed anew as he felt the stabbing of pins and needles in his lower arms when the blood circulation improved.

"You mind telling me why I'm here?"

"You stole the mask and we want it back."

"I didn't steal it. I found it... after weeks of research."

Judson's thoughts traveled back to the forest and the crude symbols written on buckskin that had formed a pictorial map to one of the grotesque wooden masks used to frighten the evil spirits believed to cause sickness. He had found the map several years earlier but with no reference point to start from, following the map was impossible... then. However, the vital clue came just a few weeks back when Judson stumbled across a series of photos in a National Geographic article and recognized the shape of a rocky outcrop as the 'wolf' upon the map. If that photo had been taken at any other angle then he would never have made the connection but once he had that reference point, the rest fell into place quickly. Following the map led him, Mac and Gabe deep into the interior, to an oak tree gnarled with age that had stood for centuries with its precious relic tucked within the massive trunk in a natural niche hidden from view above the first main branches. The False Face society had created this particular mask to stave off one of the terrible diseases brought to the Oneida Iroquois by the encroaching Europeans, a disease that wiped out almost a quarter of the population before it had run its course, though the Iroquois believed that this mask had stopped the disease rather than nature. Although Judson did not like to consider the paranormal possibilities, he had to admit that the same disease had wiped out a significant percentage more of the Micmac.

Holding the ceremonial mask in his hands had thrilled Judson, seeing it as his reward for the years of research and adventure. It mattered not that the mask was by far the ugliest thing Mac had ever seen during those adventures. He did not care that it was crudely cut and badly sculptured for beauty was in the eye of the beholder and, to Judson, its beauty lay in its very existence. The director of the Museum of Native America had already agreed to buy it from him and Judson had looked forward to seeing the man's reaction when he placed the mask into his hands. He knew Whitlow would understand its true worth that went beyond any monetary figure. It was priceless, and even giving it a price seemed a form of blasphemy but, as Mac had stated numerous times during their trek through the woodlands and forests, the Vast Explorer did not run on good intentions alone, The ship needed fuel and maintenance, and so did they. Still, at least Judson had the pleasure of knowing the mask would be going to a place where it would be fully appreciated for the benefit of all rather than hidden away in some private collection.

Would be going? Judson thought. In most likelihood, Mac and Gabe would have taken the mask to the museum, hoping that he would be waiting for them there. Mac would hand over the mask and accept the payment but neither of his team would be happy. By now, he knew they would be worried for him, perhaps even considering involving the police.

"The mask has protected the people of the standing stones for generations. Taking it places all of our lives in danger."

"You can't seriously believe that the mask holds some special powers?"

The Iroquois smiled wryly. "That is exactly what we believe, and if you do not return the mask to us so we can place it back in the forest, then we must craft a new one."

"You make that sound like a bad thing."

"For myself... no. For you..?"

The Iroquois let the question hang and Judson tried to recall why it would be such a terrible thing for him. Then it struck him. He knew the Iroquois had practiced torture and ritual cannibalism in the past and, suddenly, he had a very bad feeling about all this.

****

Askuwheteau watched patiently as the woman gave instructions to the young man she called Gabe. He knew her heart was true but it held no respect for the customs of his people. She did not believe in the power of the mask to ward off the terrible sickness that had befallen his people when they encountered the first white men. Smallpox and diphtheria had devastated the tribes and the Iroquois had retained its strength in numbers only by adopting other tribes into a confederation, enforcing a 'royal family' that could come only from the Iroquois so that their voice might not be lost among so many others. If not for the mask, their numbers would have dwindled to the point where even their adopted tribes might have risen up against them, dragging them into extinction.

He knew he could tell her this but her efforts in producing a 'false face' would not go to waste, for if the true mask was not returned to its holy place then this new mask could be blessed by ritual to take its place. knowing that this might be the case, he offered his assistance, helping them to choose the right wood and even carving the mask on their behalf using the photograph they had taken of the original.

Hours later, he sat back and smiled, nodding his head in approval. Only one small but important difference lay between the image and the copy -- its newness. The paint was too fresh and vibrant, and the wood too succulent, oozing with sap but Mac seemed undaunted. Instead, she dried out the wood until it looked old and brittle before scraping at the paint and rubbing dirt into its surface. By the time she laid the new mask back on the table, Askuwheteau knew it would be acceptable, though part of him hoped that it would never be empowered by the cries of pain and the blood of Judson Cross and his two friends.

"I will contact my son and arrange for him to meet us back in the forest where you found the mask."

"I thought you didn't know where the mask was hidden" asked Gabe, his voice tinged with suspicion. His eyes danced towards his associate and Askuwheteau saw equal suspicion in her eyes.

"I do not know... but you do. You will lead us to the place, and your friend Judson will lead the others."

"No, wait a minute. Why should we all go trekking off into the forest when we can make the exchange right here in New York? Could make it Central Park of you want some trees around."

"The exchange must be made at a holy place for the Iroquois. There are many burial grounds within the forest but your presence would anger the spirits. Only at the place where you found the mask would the spirits remain at peace."

Both nodded in agreement but Askuwheteau watched Mac in particular, seeing the growing suspicion in her eyes. He sensed that this woman would be far more of an adversary than the boy.

****

Although he did not have the buckskin map to hand, Judson knew where he was going. He had an uncanny ability to know the path, to recall small details that would seem insignificant to others and yet, attention to those minute details had allowed him to succeed where others failed so many times in the past. As a child, he had excelled at puzzles, at fitting together the small pieces that led to the whole. As an adult, he recognized that pieces of a puzzle came in many forms and not just visual; the sound upon the breeze, the simplistic design of a native costume, the touch of rough and smooth stone beneath his fingertips. He knew how to look at a puzzle from different angles, flipping pieces from side to side and back to front to see how each piece fitted within the scheme of the whole. Yet, there was more beside this ability. How often had he stood at the fork in a strange path and known instinctively which way to turn?

He led the small band of Iroquois, pausing to take his bearings from time to time, letting his fingers glide over the wolf rock in recognition, and then across the rough bark of a centuries old tree as he moved deeper into the forest. The gurgle of water called upon his senses and he stopped on the pebbled riverbank to cup some into his hand, drinking deeply of the sweet, cool water. He looked across the small but swiftly flowing river, seeing the stepping stones that he had used to cross it. Strangely, none of his abductors hurried him along, happy to follow this path as if on a pilgrimage. He winced, realizing that this was exactly what it was to them; a pilgrimage to a holy place.

As he drew another cupped palm of water to his lips, Judson considered his options. Despite all they had been through, Mac was the pragmatist, preferring to see real world explanations to their seemingly supernatural encounters. Even though she had experienced the possessed nature of another mask, a Vodun mask, she still had her doubts, preferring to believe that she had been drugged rather than admit that the mask could have been the source of her strange urges and behavior. Judson could not see her acting any differently this time.

Undoubtedly, Mac would not have retrieved the original mask from the museum. Instead, she would have had a copy made and, if Judson knew Mac, that copy would be every bit as good as the original except it would be no more than a wooden mask. The magical properties invested in the original could not be replicated to the new one simply by carving its likeness. The 'False Face' society would empower their grotesque masks through the pain of others, using the screams of the tortured to impregnate the wood with psychic properties. Afterwards, they would devour their victims, eating the internal organs and drinking the blood. Once full of the body and essence of their victim, they would draw their own blood, smearing it across the mask to seal in its power lest it be stolen by the creatures haunting the forest before it could work for the protection of the tribe.

If Mac had done as Judson predicted, then all three of them were in danger and the path they traveled into the forest would lead only to their painful deaths. Yet, Judson could think of nothing he could do alone to save them. Although his hands were untied, his abductors watched him like hawks eyeing potential prey, ready to snatch out at him should he try to make his escape. He could never hope to outrun them, nor could he expect to find sanctuary or protection within... He drew in a sharp breath, covering it immediately by drinking more water from his cupped palm.

Sanctuary.

The only way they could avoid the fate planned for them was by finding sanctuary within the forest. Judson knew exactly where that lie for they had passed it on their first trek to locate the mask when, for some unknown reason, his instincts had made him take a path that was not drawn upon the buckskin map. The place lay close to the gnarled oak, perhaps a mile distant through thick forest that would be treacherous underfoot. He knew he could make a break for this place alone, here and now, but that would merely reduce the number of victims they used to create their mask from three to two -- Mac and Gabe. He would hear their screams and not be able to do anything to help them for his abductors, who must be part of the False Face society within the Iroquois, would know exactly where he had gone and would be able to cut off any escape route should he figure out a way to free Mac and Gabe. No. The only chance for this plan to work would be if he joined up with Mac and Gabe by the gnarled oak and then planned their escape from there.

Taking a deep breath, he stood up and began moving across the river, knowing instinctively which stones to step upon. Behind him he heard the occasional curse in a foreign tongue and he smiled softly, taking pleasure where he could. Within two more hours, he spotted the gnarled oak and dropped to the ground beneath it.

"This is the place," he stated softly and saw excited grins light up the men's faces. He was grabbed and hauled to his knees, his arms bound once more before they pushed him back down against the tree trunk. Judson watched as they explored the small clearing, gathering wood to make a fire, and setting up two tepees. Silently, he wondered when Mac and Gabe would arrive with the false mask that would seal their fate -- unless they managed to escape.

Some time later, he lifted his head when he heard the sound of feet snapping twigs strewn across the forest floor, mouth tightening as Mac and Gabe entered the clearing accompanied by an Iroquois with hair almost pure white with age. His dark eyes, held within a seamed face, appraised Judson, watching him carefully, and revealing the depths of knowledge lying in them. Judson bit his lip as the other Iroquois showed their obedience and respect, knowing from the look on his friends' faces that the old man had managed to deceive them into believing he was an ally. The warriors surrounded Mac and Gabe instantly as the old man spoke.

"They do not bring the mask with them but have prepared a suitable replacement."

Judson shuddered slightly, noticing that none of the False Face warriors looked even remotely angry at losing the original mask. Instead, blood lust filled their eyes as they looked from one prisoner to another. Within moments, Mac and Gabe were seated beside him, equally bound. Mac noticed how tight the bonds were around Judson from where he had struggled upon seeing his friends grabbed.

"I'd loosen those for you but I'm a little bit tied up right now," Mac quipped, and Judson found a small smile in response.

"You think you can get us out of this situation?"

Mac glanced around to make certain that no one was paying them much attention. "You have a plan?"

"Remember that burial ground about a mile away?"

"Askuwheteau said our presence there would anger the spirits."

"But that anger won't be directed at us. Once there, they cannot touch us... and if they try..."

Mac grinned. "So all we have to do is break free of these bonds, then run a mile through dense forest with seven bloodthirsty Indians on our tail."

"Sounds about right."

"When do you want to try?"

"Soon as we can as I don't want to be sitting here once they start in on the torture."

"Torture?"

"That's how they add magical properties to the mask you so kindly made for them," Judson added dryly.

"I thought the old guy was on our side."

Judson indicated towards the tepee as the old man, Askuwheteau, stepped out garbed in traditional clothing, ritually prepared for the ceremony and took the place of honor, handing a knife to one of the warriors. The warrior stood up and approached Judson, swiftly cutting through his bonds as two others dragged him to his feet. They half marched, half dragged him over towards the fire, pulling off his jacket, t-shirt, shoes, socks and pants to leave him clad only in his boxers.

"You know, I could get the real mask back, then you won't have to go through all this messy--" He gasped as the knife sliced across his forearm, drawing blood that ran freely down his arm to drip into the large bowl held below. Judson cradled his arm to his chest, panting in pain and shock, watching in mingled curiosity and horror as the warriors dipped fingers into the spilled blood and painted their faces and, finally, their lips, tongues slipping out to taste it. Arms grabbed at Judson again and he struggled uselessly as the knife approached again, this time slicing across one pectoral. He choked back a cry of pain. Caught in horror, he knew the cuts were shallow, intending to cause pain rather than kill. They wanted him to suffer over many days. They wanted him to cry out, to scream his agony, giving them his power so they could fill the mask with it. Worse than physical pain was the knowledge that he would start on Gabe next. As a woman, Mac would be spared the torture but, no doubt, they would abuse her in front of him as a means of breaking him.

They stopped when darkness filled the clearing, swiftly turning dusk into night. Overhead, an owl hooted and the False Face warriors took this as an omen, rebinding Judson's arms before dragging him, Mac and a distraught Gabe into the smaller of the two tepees. Judson pulled back as he felt warm breath upon his cheek within the dark interior.

"It's me," Mac whispered and he tried to control the trembling of his pain-wracked body as she laid her cheek against his. "They didn't bind you so tightly this time. I need you to get the knife out of my bra top."

"Your..?"

"Yes.... where else was I going to hide one?"

"Your... shoes?"

"That's the first place anyone looks," she sighed back in exasperation, lying down flat so his fingers could start their quest. "Up a little, and to your right. Yes, there."

He felt a little embarrassed at the way his fingertips were gliding across her breast so intimately but then he felt the very slight difference in the wire holding the bra top in shape, and he pulled at it gently, hearing the soft sigh of metal upon metal. The knife, if it could even be called that, was barely more than an inch long but Judson had a feeling it would be razor sharp and more than adequate for the next job Mac had in mind, cutting her free.

Several minutes passed before they found the right angle and he felt the rope give. Mac pulled away swiftly and took the sliver of a knife from his fingers, making swift work of his and Gabe's bonds.

"We need to get out of here now, before anyone comes to check up on us," he whispered weakly, his strength fading more with each passing minute. He heard the soft movement as Mac crawled to the back of the tepee and began to cut through the hide, peeling it back to make a small exit.

"I'll go first," she whispered, and Judson knew Gabe would see the logic in that as she was better trained to deal with any surprises waiting for them out there. Weak light filtered in through the cut buckskin from outside.

The moon was high and Judson decided that he had to treat it as a good omen for, even though it meant the Iroquois would see them, it also meant that he, Mac and Gabe would be able to see where they were running. Except, Judson knew he was too weak to run, and possibly even too weak to walk far unassisted. He had the good sense not to protest when Gabe slung him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift the moment they had both cleared the tepee. Judson pointed in the direction they needed to travel to reach the burial ground, and they started out slowly, trying to minimize the noise. Every footstep they took away from the gnarled oak brought them one step closer to safety but they had to put as much distance between themselves and the camp as possible for, with Judson a burden upon Gabe's shoulders, the warriors would catch them easily.

He convinced Gabe to lower him to his feet, allowing the younger man to drag his arm over a broad shoulder. Judson reckoned that they had covered over half the distance when he heard the cry go up back at the campsite.

"Run," he whispered harshly, and Gabe increased his pace, dragging Judson along with him. Twice they stumbled on roots and hollows in the ground. Twice, Mac and Gabe pulled him back to his feet, both supporting him now as they raced towards the burial ground. He could hear the fast approaching feet, knowing they were minutes away from being caught and aware that this would be their one and only chance. Digging deep into his reserves, he pushed onwards faster, fear welling up only when the strange rock formation that denoted access to the burial ground came into sight. So near and yet so far, terrified that they had come this close only to fail as angry voices came from barely ten feet behind them.

With one last effort, they scrabbled across the rock and dropped down the other side beneath the rickety platforms housing half-scavenged bodies of the long dead.

"We made it," he crowed in relief, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

On the other side of the rock, he could hear angry retorts and curses, knowing that their strong beliefs would act in Judson's favor this time. They were safe for now, as long as thy stayed within the burial ground and, finally, he relaxed, letting his eyes drift shut.

****

Mac stared into the depths of the small fire she and Gabe had made, the aroma of cooked rabbit drifting up into the night air from the catch she had made an hour earlier. A quick scout of the burial ground had revealed objects left behind to honor the dead and she utilized several. She used a pot to hold boiled water from the small string running close by and sharpening a rusted spear for a weapon, just in case Askuwheteau and his men decided not to adhere to their beliefs and attacked.

Behind her, Judson was sleeping peacefully, his wounds cleansed and then bandaged with strips from Gabe's t-shirt. Morning was still several hours away and she had told Gabe to rest too, promising to wake him once the rabbit was cooked. As she watched over her friends, she chewed worriedly at her lower lip, wondering how they were going to get back to the Vast Explorer. If necessary, they could try to wait out Askuwheteau's people for they had fresh water and game but she feared for Judson. His wounds could easily become infected despite her best efforts in keeping them clean and covered. If only she and Gabe had told someone where they intended to go but there would be no search parties out looking for them in this forest. They were on their own, and any attempt to leave the safety of the burial ground would put them at the mercy of Askuwheteau, and he did not intend to show them any mercy.

The minutes of another hour trickled by slowly before Mac reached out to cut off a little cooked rabbit. She hissed as the grease burned her fingers but popped the cooked meat into her mouth and chewed it carefully before leaning over to shake Gabe awake.

"Food's up," she said softly, reaching back again to remove the rabbit from the crudely-made spit and tearing off a leg for Gabe.

"Judson?"

Mac nodded and watched as Gabe patted Judson's face gently, smiling when his eyes cracked open and he looked around, disorientated. Remembrance came along with the pain that he could not prevent crossing his face. Together, they helped him sit upright and Mac passed him a cup of boiled then cooled water to drink before handing him some of the rabbit. She watched as he nibbled at the meat half-heartedly but at least he was trying to eat. Taking the emptied cup, she refilled it and handed it back.

"Drink up. You didn't lose a lot of blood but more than enough to make you feel weak. The water and food will help."

"Askuwheteau?"

Mac tilted her head towards the large rock. "They were waiting just out there a few hours back but I've not seen or heard from them since. Thought I'd wait till dawn and then go scouting." She grinned, confident in her abilities, knowing Judson trusted her to take care of herself and not do anything foolish.

The warmth in his eyes offered that trust and she rested her hand on his unmarked shoulder, smiling gently.

****

Screams of pain echoing through the forest heralded the first light of the dawn, sending shivers racing though Judson. He knew what it signified, that Askuwheteau had decided not to wait until he had recaptured Judson, Mac and Gabe, choosing a victim from among his own men. What Judson could not understand was why. He knew they could not remain within the boundaries of the burial ground forever. Sooner rather than later, they would have to risk leaving this place. All Askuwheteau had to do was wait.

The screams seemed to go on forever, changing from the sound of one voice to another frequently, and silencing every living creature within the forest; they choked off as suddenly as they had started.

The silence seemed absolute for several minutes before birds began to warble and twitter once more.

"Judson!"

On hearing his name cried out in shock, Judson pushed up to his unsteady feet and stumbled forward, heading towards the rock formation that bordered the burial ground. With increased fear, he clambered up and looked over, seeing Mac squatted down close to a quickly formed camp. His fear that Askuwheteau had captured her fled at the sight of four bodies scattered before her. Gabe crawled up next to him.

"What happened?" Gabe called out.

Mac drew back slowly towards him, increasing her distance from the dead Iroquois. "I don't know but... they look like plague victims."

"What?" exclaimed Judson.

When Mac started back towards the bodies, Judson called out, "Don't go near them."

"Don't plan to," she called back over her shoulder. "Just want their guns."

He watched her pick up a hand gun and primed it, checking its movement and the number of bullets still held. The gun was tucked into her waistband and she moved to the next gun, checking that one over. She hesitated on the last, and Judson could see that it was held in a dead man's grasp. Wisely, she decided against taking it before Judson could yell at her. He sighed in relief, hearing Gabe's echoing sigh beside him.

Judson slithered down the other side of the rock to land close to Mac, registering her surprise. "I want to go check on Askuwheteau."

Gabe dropped down beside him. "You what?"

"I have a feeling..."

Mac narrowed her eyes and then gave a slow smile. "Four against three... good odds," she stated boldly and Judson grinned as Mac handed him the spare gun and gave Gabe the spear. Gabe looked as if he was about to argue but, in truth, he knew he was not such a great shot and, at least, he was uninjured so he could run if necessary whereas Judson knew he was slowed by his injuries. He would not be able to wield a spear or fight hand-to-hand if it came down to it. He had to keep any attackers at a distance if he was to survive.

They made their way back towards the gnarled oak in silence, placing their feet carefully to avoid snapping twigs underfoot and alerting the others to their approach. On the outskirts of the clearing, Judson held up a hand, making them halt. He watched as Mac stepped forward, crouched low, once more impressed by her hunting skills as she circled the clearing and came up behind the seated figure of Askuwheteau. The man barely flinched when Mac pressed the barrel of her handgun against his temple.

"You cannot kill me for I am already dead," he croaked, his hands still moving as he rubbed blood across the grotesque mask held on his lap. Before him lay the bodies of two of his men, mutilated beyond belief, with their dismembered bodies slashed open and their internal organs missing. Beside him, lying prone on the floor was another man, his son. Sores covered most of his deathly pale corpse, similar to those Judson had witnessed on the other four warriors as he passed close by them earlier.

Judson stepped closer, seeing the sores on Askuwheteau's body and knowing he man was alive through willpower alone.

"Now do you understand why the mask must be returned to its hidden place?"

"I can get it back from the museum--"

"No. Not necessary. This one can take its place." The old man's eyes rose, catching Judson's and holding them. "Please," he begged and, taking his faith in his hands, Judson took the mask and, carefully climbed up the tree, sliding the mask into the hidden depths beyond the first branches. By the time he dropped back to the ground, Askuwheteau was dead.

****

Epilogue:

Mac stretched out along the sun bed, basking in the heat of a Caribbean sun. The still water surrounding the ship was a beautiful azure blue, sparkling like a blue carpet festooned with diamonds. She opened one eye appraisingly as she watched Judson cross the deck, a cold beer in hand. The marks from the shallow knife cuts had faded, almost unnoticeable except to someone who knew where to look.

Her initial fears, after he had handled the blood covered mask, had proved groundless, and in a moment of disquiet, she wondered if the powers of the mask had been true, and that it had protected Judson from the terrible disease that ravaged the bodies of the Iroquois. Of course, the greatest mystery was why they had not caught the disease too. Judson had offered up an irrational explanation, that they had been protected on the burial ground.

In truth, she did not know what to believe. All she knew was that the disease had passed them by and, weeks later, all that was left was the memory and the fading scars on Judson's body.

She could live with that.

THE END


End file.
